Actions Speak Louder
by Laree England
Summary: To me, with Athos and D'Artagnan, actions speak much louder than words. A series of one-shots ranging anwhere from 100 to 1,000 words for Athos/D'Artagnan father/son relationship. R&R! Rated for some swearing. 14. Raise Your Glass
1. Protection

**Disclaimer: I don't own 3 musketeers**

**Here's the first one! Reviews appreciated :)**

**1. Protection**

"Dammit, Athos!" shouted D'Artagnan, pounding his fist on the table. "Why won't you let me do anything?"

"I _am_ letting you do something," said Athos, pointing at the map in front of him. "We need a distraction-"

"I'm always the distraction, Athos! And as soon as I'm done with that I'm sent straight back to the horses."

"The distraction is as important as any other part of the mission, lad," said Porthos.

"If not more so," said Aramis.

"We used to trade off," said D'Artagnan. "Now suddenly it's only ever me. Did I do something wrong? Did I mess something up?"

"Oh, D'Artagnan…"

"_What_?" said D'Artagnan, reminding Athos of when they were on the airship so long ago. "It's like you are keeping me away on purpose!"

Athos rubbed his temple. He knew that D'Artagnan would have noticed sooner or later, but he hadn't thought that the boy would have figured it out _that_ soon…

"It's been twelve missions in a row," said D'Artagnan, slightly calmer. "_Twelve_. Could you just tell me what's going on?"

Athos refused to look at the boy. Did he dare tell him the truth?

"You've just been really good at keeping them occupied-"

"I don't want excuses, Athos," D'Artagnan cut him off. "I want the truth."

Athos looked down at the table and muttered something intangible.

"What did you say?"

Athos looked up at the boy and grit his teeth. "I was trying to protect you."

D'Artagnan knitted his eyebrows together. "What makes you think I need protecting?"

Athos shook his head. "You don't. I just-I just don't know what I'd do if you got hurt."


	2. Wine

**This, my friends, is my attempt at what we all call "humor." This is FlyingMachine1's forte, not exactly mine, but I hope you all enjoy it anyway! 202 words.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the three musketeers.**

2. Wine

"D'Artagnan! I'm not joking anymore! _Give me my wine!_"

"No!" shouted D'Artagnan, clutching the bottle in his hand. You've had enough for one day!"

"_D'Artagnan!_" Athos growled.

This had been going on for ten minutes. On Athos' third bottle of wine, the young boy had snatched the drink and ran to the opposite side of the table. Now Athos was chasing D'Artagnan round and round, his already short temper growing smaller and smaller by the second. He had already suffered from multiple stubbed toes due to his intoxicated state, and D'Artagnan was sure that Athos was ready to explode, if he hadn't already, at any moment.

Athos started running around the table again, and D'Artagnan glided around it, looking like a gazelle in comparison to the bear that had become Athos, until they had completely switched places.

"Damn you, D'Artagnan!" he cursed.

"You'll thank me someday!" said D'Artagnan as he slid across the table, landing on his feet on the other side. He sprinted out the door and made it halfway down the hallway before Athos caught up with him, tackling him to he ground with a mighty roar.

"Maybe," said Athos, wrenching the sweet drink from D'Artagnan's grasp. "But not today."


	3. Milady

**A special thanks to Suthern-bell85, Arithanas, and FlyingMachine1 for telling me that I accidently reposted chapter one :) sorry about that! So I read your pms and then my computer crashed so I was trying to fix it from my phone... ugh! So, here you go, Chapter 3 at last!**

**This is really quick, yes, I know…**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the three musketeers.**

3. Milady

Athos twirled his coin around his finger, staring into the fire. D'Artagnan knew that look in the older man's eye all too well. He was thinking about Milady again.

D'Artagnan scooted his chair over closer to Athos', folding his hands in his lap.

"You okay, Athos?" asked D'Artagnan.

Athos didn't answer. He just continued to twirl his coin, staring into the fire with that sad look in his eyes. D'Artagnan turned his chair so that he was sitting directly between Athos and the fire, forcing Athos to look into the boy's eyes. D'Artagnan felt a twang of grief as he saw the thin, water film that had developed over Athos' eyes.

D'Artagnan breathed in deeply, choosing his words carefully. "I don't know if it helps at all, but… I'll never betray you like Mi-she did. I'd rather die than do that to you."

Athos placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and gave him a weak smile.

"I know."


	4. Tucking In

**I was laughing at everyone's reviews for the last one, how everyone said that "Milady" was their favorite one so far. The funny thing is that that story was what I thought was my worst one and I almost didn't post it. I guess that that's the way it works sometimes!**

**This one is really short too, but that's just how it turned out. I'll post another one today to make up for it. This is going along with the whole "Actions Speak Louder" theme. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the three musketeers.**

4. Tucking In

"Honestly, I'm fine, Athos," said D'Artagnan, crawling into bed.

"I know, I know," said Athos. "You just gave me quite the scare."

D'Artagnan waved a hand. "It will probably healed by this time next week."

"D'Artagnan, you broke your leg."

D'Artagnan gave him a look that said, "_And…?_"

Athos shook his head. "Yes, you only just broke the second largest bone in your body, but you'll be fine by this time next week."

D'Artagnan nodded. "Exactly."

Athos chuckled, watching the boy as he laid his head on his pillow. Athos noticed that the boy's blankets were situated so the just barely covered his cast, and he had a sudden, overwhelming urge that he knew he would regret later if he did it, but he just _had_ to do it.

After a moment's hesitation, Athos strode forward and brought the sheets up to D'Artagnan's chin. When the boy looked at him oddly, Athos blushed a little and shrugged.

"You looked cold," he lied bluntly.

D'Artagnan chuckled. "Thank you, Athos."

Athos brushed a stray strand of hair away from D'Artagnan's face. "Anytime."


	5. Do Not Disturb

**So I wondered what it would be like to have to wake up a hung-over Athos in the morning, and I realized that it would be quite the ordeal. So here's how I think it would happen, injected, of course, with some nice father/son fluff.**

**Feedback would be great!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the three musketeers.**

5. Do Not Disturb

A knock came at Athos' door. The musketeer groaned, rolling over and pulling a pillow over his head.

"Athos?" came Aramis' voice. "Athos, It's nearly ten o'clock! Are you just going waste away in there?"

A loud grunt was his reply.

Aramis turned to Porthos, who was standing behind him, and shrugged. "I think he has a hangover."

Porthos nodded wisely. "I think we need to get him."

Aramis raised his eyebrows. "Him or…_him_?"

"_Him_." Porthos said, matching Aramis' tone.

Aramis looked back and the door, then back to Porthos. "Seems like a logical solution."

They walked back downstairs where D'Artagnan was looking out the window, out at the river.

"D'Artagnan," Porthos called.

D'Artagnan turned to look at them. "Yes?"

"Athos isn't coming out," Porthos said, as if a brother complaining to a parent.

"What am I supposed to do about it?" D'Artagnan asked, confused for a minute before realization struck him. "You want _me_ to get him out? What makes you think he'll respond to me any better than he did to you guys?"

Aramis and Porthos exchanged glances.

"I mean, you guys have known him longer, right?" said D'Artagnan.

"Well, as that may be true," began Aramis. "It seems like you are the only thing that really matters to Athos now. Sure, he cares for Porthos and me, deep, deep, deep down, but the level that he cares for you on is much closer to the surface. If that makes any sense."

D'Artagnan slowly shook his head. "No, not really. And Athos doesn't care for me. I'm just a little punk that he happened to run into at the tavern to him."

Porthos and Aramis exchanged another glance. "We beg to differ," said Aramis.

D'Artagnan sighed, striding over to the stairs. "Alright, I'll try to get him up, just to prove you guys wrong."

"Good luck with that, lad!" called Porthos from the base of the stairs.

"What, getting him up or proving you wrong?"

"Both."

"That makes sense," D'Artagnan muttered sarcastically.

"Just get him out, D'Artagnan."

D'Artagnan just stood in front of Athos' door, not having any clue about how to wake up a moody (and probably drunk) man. He heard Aramis and Porthos come lightly up the stairs a bit. They wanted to see how D'Artagnan did compared to them. Still having no idea how to do this, D'Artagnan went about it in the most simple way possible: knocking on the door.

D'Artagnan heard a grunt on the other side. He turned to look at his two companions, and they both made motions that said "Keep going!"

D'Artagnan knocked again. "Athos, it's me. D'Artagnan."

There was a pause, then Athos' groggy voice. "What?"

"Already done better than us, lad!" Porthos whispered.

"Well, um… It's time to get up."

There was no response. D'Artagnan looked again to Aramis and Porthos and they copied their motions.

D'Artagnan sighed and opened the door.

Athos had torn up his bed in the night: his sheets were all twisted around him and a pillow lie over his head. He didn't react to the sound of the door opening, and he continued to breathe steadily.

"Athos?"

Athos lifted the pillow a tad a peeked from underneath. His expression softened when he saw D'Artagnan(1), but he pressed the pillow back down onto his head.

"Athos, it's time to get up," D'Artagnan tried again, but when Athos didn't respond, he walked over to the side of Athos' bed and poked him in the shoulder. "Athos…"

Still no response.

D'Artagnan sighed, and, finding no other alternative, tried to yank Athos' sheets off of him. It was a failed attempt, though, seeing that the sheets were tangled around Athos. Our stubborn musketeer didn't give up, though, and continued to tug at the sheets. It wasn't until he lost his grip and fell to the floor that the young boy gave up on the sheets.

"Alright, then," D'Artagnan said. "You give me no choice!"

D'Artagnan went to the side of the bed again, put his knees on the bed, and began to push.

"D'Artagnan…" Athos moaned, rolling over.

D'Artagnan continued to push, slowly edging further onto the bed the more he pushed Athos. When he got to the edge and began to tip Athos over, however, the older man grabbed D'Artagnan garbs, saying "Oh no you don't!", resulting in them both on the floor, D'Artagnan lying flat horizontal over Athos' stomach.

D'Artagnan looked over at Athos and was shocked to see that Athos was actually _smiling_ at him. He was shaking his head at the boy, sure, but he was smiling all the same.

D'Artagnan broke into his best innocent-boy smile and said, "Good morning!"

As they got off of each other, stood up, and walked out, D'Artagnan swore he could hear Athos muttering something along the lines of, "One of these days, I'm going to get you…"

"Looks like we were right," Porthos said at breakfast, a smug little smile on his lips.

"Right about what?" asked Athos, watching as Aramis and Porthos looked at each other wisely and D'Artagnan blushed. Athos hated it when his companions were so cryptic, especially when D'Artagnan was blushing. "_Right about what_?"

"Oh, nothing," said Aramis quickly, not looking up from his texts. "Just a little bet that we made with D'Artagnan earlier."

D'Artagnan blushed even more furiously.

"What _bet_?"

**And I'll just let your guys' minds run wild with how this whole thing ends…**


	6. Wenches

**Disclaimer: I don't own the three musketeers**

6. Wenches

"Oh come on," the wench cooed again, tugging at D'Artagnan's arm. "You're not in any _pleasurable_ company; anyone can see that!"

D'Artagnan looked over at Athos, who looked mildly hurt. The boy looked back at the pretty wench and yanked his arm out of her grasp.

"On the contrary," said D'Artagnan, "I find the company of my companion more than satisfying."

The wench stuck out her lower lip. "What, that old man? Surely you're joking!" she laughed, taking D'Artagnan's arm again.

"On the contrary," D'Artagnan repeated, again taking his arm away. "The company of Athos means more to me than any of your kind ever could."

Athos turned slightly pink at that last statement.

"What, you don't _love_ him, do you?" the wench laughed.

D'Artagnan's face turned red, but he kept his stern gaze steady.

"You cannot love a companion more than the pleasures of the flesh!" the wench exclaimed.

Everyone in the small tavern turned and stared right at D'Artagnan. The boy blushed even more, feeling every set of eyes trained on him. But, again, he kept his gaze.

"On the contrary," D'Artagnan said yet again. "I would rather spend one day with Monsieur Athos than a thousand in your bed."

D'Artagnan couldn't believe what was tumbling out of his mouth.

Finding no more use arguing with D'Artagnan, the wench stroked his face and said, "Shame. You are a pretty one." and flounced off, plopping down on the next available man's lap.

Everybody's eyes were still on D'Artagnan.

"C'mon, Athos." D'Artagnan said shakily, striding out of the tavern.

D'Artagnan's face was red with shame. He never thought that he would say such things even to Athos, let alone in front of Athos _and_ an entire tavern. D'Artagnan balled his fists at his sides and kept walking.

Athos was in a state of utter and complete shock. He couldn't believe the things that had been rushing so easily out of the boy's mouth. Since Athos had been behind D'Artagnan, however, he didn't know that the boy was equally surprised at his words.

"D'Artagnan," Athos said, trying to catch up to him. Instead of stopping, the boy walked faster. "D'Artagnan!"

"What?" D'Artagnan turned on his heel, almost causing Athos to run into him.

"Nothing." Athos said truthfully. "I was just trying to catch up with you."

"Go ahead." said D'Artagnan. "Start making fun of me. Start teasing me for having feelings."

Athos looked hurt. "D'Artagnan, I would _never_ do that."

"Why not?" asked D'Artagnan, confused.

Athos sighed. "Because I feel the same way about you."


	7. Pretty

**After FlyingMachine1 pointed out a line that I had the wench say in the previous chapter, I was inspired to write this. It seems like everyone is calling D'Artagnan "pretty." Milady, my wench, they mistake Constance (a girl) as D'Artagnan, and in Suthern-bell85's chapter in Esprit de Corps called **_**Disguise**_**, D'Artagnan is forced to dress as a girl for a mission because he had the most feminine features. So what I thought was: "What does D'Artagnan think of all this?" and thus this chapter was born!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Three Musketeers.**

7. Pretty

It was a tranquil day. It was warm outside, the birds were singing, and Athos had a cup of wine. You might even say it was perfect.

So it was completely understandable that Athos dumped his wine over when D'Artagnan came running down the stairs and suddenly shouted "AM I PRETTY?"

Athos blinked several times. D'Artagnan looked furious. He was breathing heavily and had his fists balled at his sides.

"What are you asking me?" Athos asked.

D'Artagnan grew red in the face. "Am. I. Pretty?"

"Uh-" Athos wasn't quite sure how to answer that.

"Every time I go to a tavern the wenches say that I'm pretty. Mil-another woman called me pretty. The guards mistook Constance as me. And that time that you guys dressed me up as a woman?**(1)**"

Athos laughed slightly at that fond memory.

"You guys proved that I can be passed easily for a girl…"

Athos nodded wisely. _That's_ what this was all about.

"Well?" urged D'Artagnan, tapping his foot.

"If you are asking me whether or not you look like a woman, D'Artagnan, I will have to answer 'no.'"

D'Artagnan calmed down, the flush receded from his face and his breathing slowed down. However, the blush soon returned to his cheeks from embarrassment.

"Sorry about that, Athos."

Athos waved a hand, picking up his cup from the ground and shaking his head slightly at yet _another_ wine stain on the floor. "No problem."

D'Artagnan remained at the base of the stairs, twiddling his thumbs like a schoolboy. "You wont tell Porthos about this, will you?"

"No D'Artagnan," Athos smirked. "It will be our little secret."

D'Artagnan smiled and gave him an appreciative nod. "Thank you, Athos."

Athos nodded back. "Of course."

D'Artagnan strapped on his sword, and with a new sense of self confidence and his chest puffed out, D'Artagnan strode from the apartment in a very manly fashion.

"You can come the rest of the way down, now, Porthos." called Athos.

Porthos bounded down the rest of the stairs with a maniacal grin on his face. "You must admit, he would make a very pretty girl."

"I heard that!" came D'Artagnan's voice from the street.

Porthos laughed heartedly, and even Athos cracked a small, but visible, smile.

**(1) If you don't know what this reference is about, read Suthern-bell85's chapter titled **_**Disguise**_** in Esprit de Corps. It's amazing! Go! Read it!**


	8. Burn

_**IMPORTANT!**_

_**please Google AliceTheMadderHatter, click the YouTube link, click "videos" and watch my three musketeers videos! The second one was made by me and FlyingMachine1 at midnight last night, and I spent three hours this morning on the other one :) go watch them and tell me what you think!**_

**Everyone has a moment like this with either their parents, older sibling, or friend. D'Artagnan just happens to have it with Athos :)**

8. Burn

Athos heard D'Artagnan yelp in pain. He was instantly at the boy's side, searching for the boy's source of discomfort.

"What happened?" Athos asked, crouching down to D'Artagnan level.

D'Artagnan was cradling his left hadn't in his right. "Why am I such an _idiot_?"

"You're not an idiot." said Athos. "Now what happened?"

D'Artagnan jerked his head at the fireplace in front of him. "The fire was dying down so I tried to grab the poker and I-I burned my hand."

Athos saw the red poker on the floor.

"Let me see it," said Athos, holding out his hand.

"It's nothing," D'Artagnan said quickly. "It just startled me is all…"

Athos raised his eyebrows doubtfully and kept his hand out.

"It's not bad. I'm fine." D'Artagnan muttered, putting his hand in Athos' to examine.

"You call this 'not bad'?" Athos asked. The boy had obviously gripped the hot metal firmly, there were bright pink burns on the insides of his fingers and a large, red, angry burn on his palm.

"I am _such an idiot._" said D'Artagnan.

"Shut up!" said Athos. "You are _not_ an idiot, D'Artagnan! Stop saying that."

D'Artagnan was startled by Athos' sudden fierceness, but Athos had already moved on to further examining D'Artagnan's hand.

"We should have a surgeon take a look at that." said Athos.

"A surgeon? Athos, it's just a burn!"

"It looks serious!"

"It will probably be healed by the time we go on that mission across the river."

Athos wasn't listening. "I'll have Planchet go and fetch some fish oil. That should hold you over until we get you properly treated."

"Athos, we're already running low on funds! You won't get any wine if you by me medicine, and that surgeon's bill!"

Athos glared at D'Artagnan. "What do you think means more to me, wine or your health?"

D'Artagnan looked at the floor and mumbled, "I don't need a surgeon…"

Athos let go of D'Artagnan's hand. "Fine. But I'm getting you fish oil."

Athos got up and went to the door, and he noticed the way that Porthos and Aramis were looking at him.

"What?" he asked.

Porthos just laughed and shook his head.

Athos opened the door and said in all seriousness, "You'd think I overreacted or something."

Athos left the apartment to the sound of Porthos and Aramis uncontrollably laughing.


	9. Oops

**A/N: This was inspired by what happened to me in one of my classes last year. It was SO embarrassing, I swear my face was red for the rest of the day. So I thought that I'd share the pain with D'Artagnan :) Enjoy!**

**Towards the end, it might sound like slash, but it's not, I swear!  
**

**Reviews are lovely :)  
**

9. Oops

D'Artagnan could feel his face growing progressively hotter the longer that he searched the apartment. He could feel Porthos' eyes trained on him, and D'Artagnan did his best to try to hide his despair. He scratched the top of his head. Where the heck could that thing be?

"What's wrong, boy?" Porthos asked.

D'Artagnan waved a hand, continuing his search. Porthos looked over at Aramis and shrugged.

After ten more minutes of running up and down the stairs and looking everywhere for the thing, D'Artagnan heaved a huge sigh. He had no idea how he could have lost something so important, and impossible to lose. He knew that he would never hear the end of it if he asked any of them for help.

Oh, well. He _did_ kind of need his sword...

Sighing in defeat, D'Artagnan stepped down the stairs and braced himself for the embarrassment that would inevitably come from asking Athos if he had seen his sword.

But the worst of the embarrassment had yet to come.

D'Artagnan wasn't thinking. He wasn't paying attention. He was simply just saying what was on his mind, so preoccupied by the embarrassment that he thought would come from admitting that he had no idea where his sword was and not realizing that the real embarrassment would come from the words that came from his mouth.

Confident and self-assured, D'Artagnan, looking straight at Athos, called, "Hey, Dad?"

There was a moment of silence where the musketeers' eyes widened to the size of apples. D'Artagnan's stomach dropped all the way down to Hades's domain, and his face was so hot that he was sure that his face was redder than the queen's lips.

Porthos cleared his ears. "What did you say, lad?"

D'Artagnan fidgeted at the bottom of the stairs, catching a glimpse of the look that Athos was giving him. It was shock mixed with something else that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He immediately looked down at the floor, muttering, "I meant Athos."

Porthos' booming laugh filled the apartment. "I'm sure you did!"

Athos continued to stare at D'Artagnan. Why had he mistakenly called him the title that belong to his father? But hearing the boy call him 'dad'... it stirred something within him. He saw D'Artagnan in a new light, and his expression softened. And his heart... his heart felt... _good._ A warmth spread throughout his whole body. A good warmth. A happy warmth.

But he couldn't let on to that.

He cleared his voice loudly. "Yes, D'Artagnan? What is it?"

D'Artagnan's eyes widened. After that ordeal, he didn't want to further embarrass himself...

"Come, boy," said Aramis in a friendly tone, "out with it."

D'Artagnan clenched his fists. _Just do it!_ he thought.

"Well I was-ah-I was wondering if you knew where my sword was."

Porthos howled so hard at this he almost tipped his chair over. Aramis started chuckling, too.

It was too much for the boy. He buried his face in his hands and ran back up to his room, slamming the door behind him. Immature, yes, but he hated feeling foolish. Tears stung at his eyes, that stupid habit that always happened whenever he was furious with himself.

"D'Artagnan?" he heard a soft voice say from the doorway.

D'Artagnan cursed loudly as he recognized Athos' voice. He tried to wipe away his angry tears, but they kept coming, which made D'Artagnan even_ more_ furious with himself, which, consequently, led to more tears.

"Go away!" D'Artagnan shouted, turning away from the older musketeer.

"Shh," said Athos, coming towards the boy. He put a hand on his shoulder, but D'Artagnan yanked away from him. "Come on, D'Artagnan."

"I said go _away_!" D'Artagnan practically screamed at him, turning on his heel and glaring fiery darts at Athos.

The hurt emotion in Athos' eyes was too much for D'Artagnan. He fell to his knees, burying his head in his hands.

Athos crouched down next to him, pulling D'Artagnan to him. D'Artagnan resisted, but he found that Athos' embrace was too tempting to resist. He found himself actually pressing himself to Athos' chest. Athos stroked D'Artagnan's hair.

"You know that Porthos teases you because he loves you, right?" Athos said.

D'Artagnan looked up at him in a way that a small boy would look at his father. Athos' heart filled with that warmth again.

"Really?" asked D'Artagnan brokenly. He had always figured that he was just Porthos' emotional punching bag.

"Really." Athos nodded.

D'Artagnan buried his head in Athos' chest and said something that Athos couldn't make out.

"What was that?"

What part of D'Artagnan's face Athos could see turned pink. "Never mind. Nothing."

"No," said Athos firmly. "We're not doing that anymore."

D'Artagnan sighed. "You wont hate me?"

Athos couldn't help but laugh. "Why on earth would I ever hate you, D'Artagnan?"

D'Artagnan pulled away from Athos and sat cross-legged. "Okay." he sighed, steeling himself. "I love you, Athos."

If what Athos had felt before was warmth, what coursed through his veins now was fire. It was as if it was not the Earth that gravity was pulling him to, it was the blushing boy in front of him. And the boy was what was holding down to the world. Nothing else in the whole universe mattered; only D'Artagnan. Athos could feel tears of his own fill his eyes.

"I love you, too."

They embraced again and stood up. Athos ruffled the boys hair, causing him to laugh.

"You okay, now?" Athos asked.

D'Artagnan nodded. "Much better."

They went back down the stairs, Porthos eying them suspiciously. D'Artagnan didn't even care anymore, though. He felt like everything was alright with the world.

Now if he could only find that damn sword...


	10. Care To Dance?

**A/N: Sorry for the super late update! I've been more focused on A True Musketeer, and I actually forgot about this little collection I have, but I really enjoyed getting back into the rhythm of Athos/D'Artagnan father/son fluff!**

9. Care to Dance?

Planchet came in through the front door with a small bundle of letters in his hand. The first was to Aramis, the front was written on with a pretty hand and Aramis blushed and tucked it quickly into his clothing, whistling and looking innocently out the window. The next three went to Porthos, which were all also written in pretty handwriting, but he carelessly tossed them all into the fire. Athos didn't even raise his head; he always seemed to know when a letter had come for him. D'Artagnan was sitting with his head on the desk, tracing pictures on the table with his finger. He was shocked when Planchet tapped him on the shoulder and handed him a letter as well.

"Planchet, what is this?" he asked.

"That, Monsieur, came from the pretty Mademoiselle Bonacieux." said Planchet, bowing to his masters and fleeing to his room.

D'Artagnan blushed, but ripped open the letter with such viciousness that Athos raised an eyelid. D'Artagnan eagerly read what Constance's familiar hand had written on the parchment. The more he read though, the more color left his face, until D'Artagnan's pallor resembled that of a ghost and Athos was quite sure that the boy was about to faint. D'Artagnan read the letter back over again twice, and a small patch of sweat began at his brow.

"What is it, boy?" Athos asked gently.

D'Artagnan seemed to not be able to swallow.

"Devil take it, D'Artagnan! What is wrong?"

D'Artagnan shoved the piece of paper over to Athos, but his eyes remained straight ahead.

Athos raised the letter up to the light and read:

_Monsieur D'Artagnan. You are cordially invited by Madamoiselle Bonacieux to His Majesty's ball this coming Thursday. The ball is to begin at seven._

Athos looked back up to D'Artagnan, who looked like he had just received his death sentence.

"What's wrong with the lad?" Porthos asked, and in answer Athos passed over the letter. Upon reading it, he laughed heartedly, and passed it over to Aramis, who read it as well and just raised an eyebrow at D'Artagnan.

"My dear boy, you've been invited to a ball! The king's ball, no less! What could possibly be wrong?"

D'Artagnan swallowed hard and the color forcefully returned to his cheeks. He muttered something, but it was so quiet that none of the three inseparables heard him. They all leaned forward and Porthos asked him to speak up a little bit.

D'Artagnan groaned and put his head in his hands. "I'm a dead man!"

"Come on, D'Artagnan, be reasonable!" said Athos. "It's only a ball!"

"You don't understand," said the boy, shaking his head. "I- I can't-"

"Can't what?" asked Porthos.

D'Artagnan raised his head. "I can't dance."

A silence hung in the room for a moment, but it was quickly cut short as Porthos laughed. D'Artagnan glared daggers at him.

"I'm not kidding."

Porthos stopped, and then looked seriously at D'Artagnan. "Oh, come! Of course you know how to dance!"

D'Artagnan just slowly shook his head.

The silence returned, and the older musketeers exchanged looks as the weight of what they all realized what they must do pressed down on their shoulders. It only took one nod from Athos to let them know that they were all thinking the same thing.

Porthos cleared his throat. "Well. Come on, lad. I'll teach you."

D'Artagnan glared up at him. "You're just going to make fun of me, aren't you?"

"He won't." said Aramis. "And we'll all teach you."

D'Artagnan gave them a doubtful look, but rose out of his chair.

Porthos came and stood in front of him, wondering for a moment wondering just exactly how he was supposed to go about this. He could see a tinge of pink begin to creep up the young man's neck, which wasn't helping the situation at all. Porthos cleared his throat, trying to be as professional as possible.

"There is a proper way in which you guide a woman around the floor," Porthos began, but he already felt ridiculous, and they hadn't even started dancing yet. "First I shall show you, and then I'll let you have a go. Sound good?"

D'Artagnan nodded.

"Alright," said Porthos, walking up to D'Artagnan. He took one of D'Artagnan's hands in his, and he put his other hand on the boy's waist. "Put your hand up on my shoulder, D'Artagnan."

D'Artagnan obliged, biting his lip to keep from laughing out of sheer embarrassment.

Porthos began to rock back and forth, and he could hear Aramis begin to hum in the corner. He glared at him, which, naturally, only made Aramis hum louder. Porthos could see Athos smiling from behind his wine cup. Porthos bit back the urge to stick his tongue out at them like a little schoolboy. He cleared his throat again and looked back at D'Artagnan, who looked like he wanted nothing more than to crawl into the corner and never have to see civilization again.

"Okay, so once you've got a sort of rhythm going, you can then move on to a more dramatic way…" he showed him by twirling him around under his arm, did a sort of sidestep all around him, and then guiding him into his chest. "And then you can-"

Porthos moved his hand, D'Artagnan was so startled that he jumped back from Porthos' movement. "Devil take it, Porthos!" shouted D'Artagnan. "Who, may I ask, do you dance like that with?"

"Well, I-" Porthos became flustered and put his hands on his hips. "I was just saying-"

"No. I will _never_ dance like that with Constance!" he said.

Porthos shrugged his shoulders. "Suit yourself."

He then dropped into D'Artagnan's old chair, and propped his elbows behind him on the table. "Well, anyone else want to take a go at it?"

Aramis sprang up, rubbing his hands together, excited to show up the bigger man. "Alright, D'Artagnan. I'll show you how to really dance." said Aramis. He straightened out his shirt and cracked his neck, then stared intently at the poor boy.

D'Artagnan felt frightened more than anything.

D'Artagnan stared at Aramis as he began an intricate ballet, making long lines with his arms and lunges with his legs. Aramis grabbed D'Artagnan around the waist and guided him around, and D'Artagnan let out a small sound of surprise as Aramis lifted him off of the ground. He did many other movements around D'Artagnan and guided him around their little dining room, and D'Artagnan was finding himself beginning to be dizzy. Then, as Aramis whirled him around in one last grand flourish, D'Artagnan tripped over his own feet and hit his head on the table.

D'Artagnan groggily opened his eyes to see Athos above him, and he winced at the pounding of his head. He held the spot in his hand and slowly sat up as the room spun around him.

"You really don't know how to dance, do you?" said Athos, looking into D'Artagnan's unfocused eyes.

D'Artagnan shook his head and laughed. "I don't suppose that you want to have a go, do you?"

Athos shrugged. "I can try."

He helped the boy up off of the floor and waited as D'Artagnan steadied himself.

"Ready?" he asked when D'Artagnan seemed to have his bearings.

"As I'll ever be," answered D'Artagnan, looking wearily at Athos, hoping that he didn't have anything extravagant in mind.

"I'll make it simple." said Athos, pulling D'Artagnan to him.

He had the boy assume the same position that he had started out in with Porthos, and he rocked him bag and forth, then after a while, he easily twirled the boy around. D'Artagnan felt comfortable (at least as comfortable as he could be while dancing with Athos) and was certain that he would be able to at least do this.

"You think you want to try?" asked Athos, and suddenly D'Artagnan wasn't so sure. Athos chuckled at the boy's expression. "I won't blame you if you step on my feet."

D'Artagnan's cheeks burned again as Athos switched hand positions with him. He could feel Porthos' mocking gaze boring into his back and prayed that, if nothing else, that he wouldn't-

Athos grunted slightly and D'Artagnan quickly picked his foot back up. Porthos' booming laugh filled up the room, and D'Artagnan cursed.

"It's okay, D'Artagnan." Athos assured him. "Try again."

D'Artagnan's eyebrows scrunched together in concentration as he tried to mimic the slow rocking that Athos had done. D'Artagnan began to get into the rhythm and quickly began to pick up the noble art. Athos whispered commands to him, and D'Artagnan began to feel like a natural. A grin spread across his lips as Athos nudged him into more advanced movements, and D'Artagnan even spun Athos under his arm a few times. Porthos began to clap in time with them, and Aramis tapped his cup on the table as well.

Athos was halfway under D'Artagnan's arm for another twirl when the door opened.

The two partners suddenly froze, not daring to look to see who was at the door. The silence somehow bothered D'Artagnan and he realized that Porthos wasn't laughing.

D'Artagnan swallowed, let go of Athos' hands and slowly turned around.

"Would you mind explaining this scene to me?" Monsieur de Treville asked.

D'Artagnan instantly wished for his death.

"I was simply teaching the young Gascon how to dance," said Athos, keeping his voice calm, as if simply saying that he had been sleeping.

Treville pressed his lips together and nodded. Without another word, he shook his head and eased the door back shut.

D'Artagnan looked back to Athos, noticing that his cheeks were a light shade of pink.

Athos held out his arms and nodded to the boy.

"Again."

D'Artagnan stood in the dining room in the suit that His Majesty had given him two years ago. The three musketeers nodded their approval, and D'Artagnan would have been shaking from excitement, but instead he was shaking from fear.

"Listen, D'Artagnan," Athos said, putting both his hands on the boy's shoulders. "You will do just fine. Constance wouldn't have invited you if she wasn't certain of you." he released him, giving the boy a slight smile. "She is a very lucky woman to have you, D'Artagnan."

D'Artagnan smiled up at Athos and nodded. "Thank you, Athos. For everything."

He nodded to the other two men, and with a deep breath, he left to His Majesty's palace.

"Of course, D'Artagnan." Athos whispered after him.

Porthos patted Athos on the shoulder. "They grow up so fast, don't they?"

Athos glared at him. "He is a man, Porthos. Not a boy."

Porthos raised his hands. "One would think otherwise with the way that you look at him."

Before Athos could respond, Porthos just shook his head and walked back up to his room.

Athos looked back to the door that D'Artagnan had just left through.

Yes. They did grow up fast.


	11. A Change

**A/N: I feel kinda 'bleh' about this one, but it was stuck in my head so I had to write it :) I might bring this story back into another multi-chap that I am working on, so we'll see what happens.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Three Musketeers  
**

The door to the three musketeers' apartment flung open with such force that they could have sworn it was a gunshot. Then the door slammed shut, leaving their ears ringing.

D'Artagnan stood in the doorway, a vicious look that the musketeers had never seen before marred his normally tranquil features. Before any of them could say anything, D'Artagnan stormed forward and yanked a bottle that Porthos had been pouring wine from out of his hand, muttering, "Give me that," and then drinking straight rom it. He went to the window that led to the balcony, leaning his arm up against it, cursing, and taking another drink from the bottle.

Athos blinked from shock. D'Artagnan never acte like this. What could have gotten him so riled up? "D'Artagnan-"

"Shut up!" said D'Artagnan. "Don't talk to me!"

The musketeers couldn't believe what they were hearing. What had gotten into the boy?  
"D'Artagnan-"

"I said shut _up_!" D'Artagnan yelled, whirling around.

"What has gotten into you, lad?" asked Porthos.

D'Artagnan let out a sound of rage and slammed the bottle on the table, nearly shattering it. He left up the stairs with the parting words, "I don't want to talk about it, alright?"

Athos, Aramis, and Porthos all stared at the each other, dumbfounded, as they heard D'Artagnan's door slam shut from above them.

"What happened to him?" asked Porthos.

Aramis raised an eyebrow. "Puberty?"

Porthos rolled his eyes. "Athos, go talk some sense into him."

Athos gave him a look that said, Why me?

"You're the only one that he listens to!"

They heard something clang down to the ground upstairs, closely accompanied by a loud curse.

Aramis then raised the other eyebrow as well. "Have fun."

Athos set down his cup and pushed himself up and out of his chair, making it very apparent that he did not appreciate this.

"And good luck!" Porthos added as Athos began to scale the stairs.

Athos came up to D'Artagnan's door and knocked lightly. He was greeted by a very colorful will for him to leave. Athos took a deep breath and knocked again, a little harder.

The door flung open and D'Artaganan put his face an inch away from Athos'.

"What?"

Athos composed himself. "What's wrong?"

D'Artagnan's scrunched eyebrows softened for just a moment. But only a moment. He put out his hands in front of him, shifting from foot to foot as if trying to form his words into a physical thing out of the air around them.

"It's okay, D'Artagnan. Nothing could be so bad as to make you turn yourself into a devil."

D'Artagnan's eyes sparked with a fire that slightly frightened Athos.

D'Artagnan took several quick breaths beore responding. "Constance is pregnant, alright?" D'Artagnan said through his teeth. "I got her _pregnant_, Athos!" D'Artagnan tangled his fingers in his hair. "I'm not ready to be a father!"

Athos blinked, trying to absorb all this. D'Artagnan stepped away and stood with his back on the wall, his head tipped back. He had a horrible feeling in his stomach, and he elt like his world had just toppled over on top of him.

Athos strode forward and grasped D'Artagnan's face in both o his hands. "Look at me, D'Artagnan," he said, and the boy's blue eyes roved over to meet his. "That woman loves you. You both have created something beautiful. And you will be an amazing father."

D'Artagnan's eyebrows scrunched in a sad way now. "How do you know that? I am only nineteen..."

"And what a prime age!" said Athos, releasing his hold on the boy's face. "D'Artagnan, this is an amazing opportunity! Go back to her. Ask for her hand. Live your life D'Artagnan. We will always be right here for you."

D'Artagnan smiled. "Thank you, Athos."  
"Of course."

Athos blinked, and his boy was up at the alter, holding Constance's hands in his. They kissed, and ran out of the church, hand-in-hand. He blinked again, and a beautiful baby was in his arms, D'Artagnan's eyes staring right back up at him. She was truly beautiful. He blinked once more, and the little girl was on his lap, begging for another story.

"Now, Deserae," said Athos, pushing her blond curls back. "It's your bedtime! Your father will be here any minute now."

"But Uncle Athos..." Deserae complained, sticking out her lower lip.

Athos shook his head as the door opened.

"Daddy!" Deserae cried, smiling.

D'Artagnan walked forward and picked the little girl off of Athos' lap, getting that same grin that he always did whenever he saw his girl on his face. Deserae's eyelids drooped, and soon she was sleeping like a little angel.

"Was she good?" D'Artagnan asked quietly.

Athos nodded. "As always."

"Did she ask for your stories?"

Athos smiled. "Yes. She asked or the airships again."

D'Artagnan's grin expanded. "She's fond of that one."

"Maybe next time I'll tell her that it's a true story. And who the characters are."

D'Artagnan laughed into Deserae's hair. "I think it's time to get her to her mom."

Athos walked D'Artagnan to the door and lightly kissed Deserae on the head. "Be sure to bring her back tomorrow."

D'Artagnan smirked. "Yes, Athos. Of course."


	12. Moving

**Disclaimer: I don't one the Three Musketeers**

**Reviews much appreciated!**

12. Moving

D'Artagnan sat up in his-no, Plachet's- room, looking out of the window with a sad sigh. He had grown accustomed with the outside view of the busy streets and seeing the three inseperables whenever he went down the stairs. Hhe had grown used to the fact that Athos was just across the hall. He had learned to live with Porthos' incessant teasing, and his feet were used to dodging the books that Aramis left on the floor. He was used to the sight of Athos staring into the fire, a wine cup in his hand. And he had come to expect the sharp twang that he felt in his heart whenever he saw him like this.

D'Artagnan realized now in sharp detail just how much he had taken this all for granted.

He looked over to his pile of belongings on the bed. It had only taken him a mere half an hour to collect it all.

So much for buying time.

It was Athos' words that made D'Artagnan continue on packing up his belongings. Thos words had haunted him almost every day that he spent still residing here. What he said the first day that D'Artagnan met him: "For the time being…"

Now that D'Artagnan had found another place to stay that rented for cheap, he couldn't bring himself to selfishly remain her.

D'Artagnan picked up his saddlebag and went down the stairs with heavy feet.

D'Artagnan grit his teeth as he saw Athos in his usual chair. He looked up at D'Artagnan and cocked his head to the side.

"Going on a solo mission?" Athos asked.

"No, Athos," said D'Artagnan.

The summer sun filtered in through the window, illuminating the small dining room. D'Artagnan's eyes roved over the room, and his happiest memories filled his mind. He steeled himself before continuing.

"I'm moving out."

A silence hung in the air as the muscles in Athos' face tensed ever-so-slightly.

"What?"

"I've packed my things," he said, avoiding looking directly into Athos' eyes. "I've found a place that rents for cheap, and I know that my place here was only temporary. I'm ready to go now."

Athos scrunched his eyebrows and put his wine cup down. "What are you talking about, boy?"

"When you gave me a place here, you said that it was only for the time being."

Athos pinched the bridge of his nose. "D'Artagnan, that was four months ago. That was way before I-" he stopped short.

"Before you…?"

"No matter," said Athos sternly. "But, D'Artagnan, you can't possibly believe that we still wish for you to leave!"

D'Artagnan blinked and suddenly felt foolish. "But I thought…"

Athos shook his head. "No, D'Artagnan. We are the four inseparables now." he smirked in the smallest bit. "I can't let you go and tarnish that new title, now, can I?"

D'Artagnan's face grew into the most boyish grin Athos had ever seen. "You mean I can stay?"

Athos prevented himself from copying D'Artagnan's grin. "Indefinitely, if you so wish."

"Thank you, Athos."

Athos gazed upon D'Artagnan with the look of a proud father. "It's my pleasure, D'Artagnan."


	13. Name

**This one has kinda been lying around for a while, and I had forgotten about it. Well, I remembered it, obviously, and here is the next post! Very very **_**very **_**short, sorry for that : \ I guess I just didn't want it to go to waste, you know?**

**I own nothing.**

13. Name

"Goodnight, D'Artagnan."

"Night, Athos."

D'Artagnan looked out the window, a soft smile on his lips. He loved it when Athos bade him goodnight. He didn't know why, but whenever Athos called D'Artagnan by name he got a feeling in his chest that he didn't get with anyone else. Perhaps it was in the way that he said it. There was a certain warmth in it, and the octave in which his voice was set was comforting. The mere sound of Athos' voice comforted him and made him feel safe. Athos said D'Artagnan's name in such an affectionate tone that, in a non-corny way, it made him feel special. Athos was saying _his_ name in that way Not anyone else's. Perhaps what was the most prominent of reasons why D'Artagnan loved it so much when Athos uttered his name was because there was a strong sense of pride in his tone. Like he was pleased that D'Artagnan was there, and that he could call him his friend.

All of this added up to the feeling that was now swelling like a balloon in his chest.


	14. Raise A Glass

**Woah, how long has it been since I've written for these guys? Forever? It's good to be back, though! Although, I haven't exactly returned on a happy note... I may make this a full-length story in the future, I'm not sure, we'll see!**

"To Athos," Porthos said heavily, raising his cup.

Aramis repeated the phrase solemnly and held his cup as well, drinking with his comrade. D'Artagnan sat at the other end of the table, silent, looking down at his tattered boots. He had no want for the drink. He had no want for anything. He felt so lost, so hollow, like the world was a void, not necessarily that it had turned its back against him, just so... Empty.

Silence filled the room as Porthos and Aramis watched the boy. D'Artagnan had been hopeful these past few weeks, even after Treville stopped calling Athos' name for roll, after even Porthos and Aramis had stopped constantly looking out onto the street for any sign of him. They knew that in the quiet hours after they all went to their respective rooms, however, that D'Artagnan would pad across the hall and step into Athos' room and lie silent, letting whatever presence of Athos he could gather from the room wash over him.

Porthos and Aramis had been musketeers long enough to know what it meant after not seeing a colleague for more than three weeks. They had already accepted their friend's fate, had already privately mourned him. The messenger who had left just minutes before only solidified the older musketeers' fears.

Athos would never return.

"D'Artagnan..." Aramis began, but D'Artagnan stood roughly, running up the stairs and slamming a door behind him.

Tears streaming from his face, D'Artagnan fell onto Athos' bed, hugging the blankets tight to him.

"You're not dead," D'Artagnan said, shaking his head. "You're not dead."

The sheets still smelled liked the older musketeer. D'Artagnan's fists clenched around the fabric as his tears continued to roll down.

"I shouldn't have left you," he whispered to the sheets, as if they held Athos' presence. "You were too damn noble... Now I don't even have anything to bury."

He squeezed his eyes shut, imagining that he was talking right to Athos.

"Please, come back... I don't know what to do... I'm lost. I'm scared."

For the first time in a long time, D'Artagnan felt like a young boy, defenseless against the forces of nature. He felt helpless. He needed a protector to comfort him until the sun came up on a new day. But that protector was gone.

Hours passed as D'Artagnan shamelessly shed his tears of sorrow, enveloping himself in what had once served for Athos' warmth, but were now a shroud for D'Artagnan. He grew to the point of numbness, unable to feel the ends of his limbs or even lift his eyes. The sun rose in the Paris sky, the birds calling D'Artagnan to get up, for time could stop for no musketeer. The effort that even having to open his eyes would take was overwhelming to the young man.

Another tear tumbled from underneath D'Artagnan's exhausted lids.

"Goodbye, Father..."


End file.
